


Silent, White Light

by CorneliaGrey



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: After Episode s05e01, Established Relationship, M/M, Reid can't risk walking on ice, So Morgan takes drastic measures, unabashed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorneliaGrey/pseuds/CorneliaGrey
Summary: Reid's gonna break his other leg if he tries walking on the frozen pavement - so Morgan takes drastic measures.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 7
Kudos: 294





	Silent, White Light

**Author's Note:**

> Previously published on Livejournal (2009) as Lagolindari

“Hey, kid – wake up. We're home,” Morgan said, turning off the engine. He retrieved the key, listening to the car's last rumbles – then he looked to the passenger side, where Reid was blinking, trying to pretend he hadn't dozed off half-curled up on the seat.  
  
“M' awake,” the kid croaked, almost on cue – Morgan smiled, deciding to let it go, and turned to look at the shimmering whiteness outside. They'd landed in the early morning to find a snow-covered landscape stretching before them, apparently endless – soothing, in some way, to their tired nerves. The drive home had been slow, Morgan double-checking every swerve, every turn – he couldn't remember having felt so exhausted in ages. Although, he half-considered – that seemed to be pretty much how he felt after every case.  
  
“God. I'm not getting out of the shower for a week,” he said, rubbing his aching neck before leaning back against the seat. He closed his eyes, allowing himself another moment before getting out in the cold.  
  
He thought he heard a sleepy snicker. “I'm not getting out of bed for a _fortnight_ , at the very least,” Reid mumbled. Morgan peeked to the side in time to see him rubbing his eyes with the hem of his sleeve – and did _not_ find it adorable. Most definitely not.  
  
“Come on. Let's get inside, then,” he said, and pushed the door open before he could change his mind. He stepped out, snow crunching under his boots – and he had to blink, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. The morning light was white and neat and cold – it spread easily through the icy, limpid air, almost blinding. It glinted off ice-covered roofs, suffused clumps of frozen snow, shone on distant houses in patterns of mysterious, friendly sparkles. The world seemed vast, luminous and pure – deserted and silent, drowning in quiet light. Morgan took a deep breath, coolness filling his lungs, making his head feel lighter. Right about now, that was exactly what he needed.  
  
He heard Reid hiss in protest as the cold air invaded the car, and the other door clicked open right away. “You can be a very mean person,” Reid muttered, rubbing his hands vigorously before gripping his cane. His breath condensed in well-defined little clouds, floating in the clear air.  
  
“Get going, kid. I'll be right behind you,” Morgan said, and walked to the trunk to retrieve the emergency food they'd got along the way – muffins and caramel fudge and blueberry croissants still warm from the oven. And, when Reid wasn't looking, he'd added a generous portion of brownies – possibly just because he really wanted to see Reid smile. Not that he would say that out loud.  
  
He kept an eye on the kid as he carefully got out of the ca and started hobbling towards the garden. Morgan watched with a slight frown, taking in the way Reid walked just a little too slowly, leaning a little too heavily on his cane. His limp seemed worse. Maybe, Morgan considered, he would sneak the crutches on the jet next time they had to leave – just in case.  
  
He looked at the kid's back, at his worn brown jacket – that was definitely not thick enough to keep him warm in December – at how he carefully planned his steps, at the way he hopped past a frozen puddle, stretching shiny and irregular across the road. Morgan sighed, gathering the crumpled food bag and deciding to ignore the duffels. He knew Reid was bothered when he started being over-protective – he'd already more or less promised he would try to keep it in check. It seemed like he would have to stick to trying to be subtle about it, instead.  
  
He slammed the hood shut, flexing his shoulders, and allowed himself a deep breath of biting winter air before he made is way towards the house. When he reached the pavement, he found that Reid had stopped and was standing at the little gate, waiting for him.  
  
“Hey. Everything alright, pretty boy?” Morgan shifted the bag from one hand to the other, and placed his free palm on the small of Reid's back. (And, deep down – something in his chest still stirred, incredulous and grateful, when Reid didn't flinch away.)  
  
“Yeah,” replied Reid, with a slight frown. He tilted his head to the side, offering Morgan a tiny smile. He was eyeing the narrow stone path which gracefully snaked across the garden, leading to the front door. “I don't really think I can walk on that,” he said, vaguely pointing at it with his cane.  
  
Morgan squinted against the white light which shimmered off the flat stones of the walkway, cold and bright. The path was coated in thin, transparent ice – crackled in delicate intricacies, criss-crossing all the way to the door – glinting, pretty and silent and dangerous, insidiously draped on the doorsteps.  
  
Morgan pressed the tip of his boot past the gate, testing the ice – it crackled and fractured, but did not come off. It was smeared across the stones, slippery and offering virtually no grip. He shook his head – he'd have to agree with Reid on this one. He didn't need a string of statistics on ice-related injuries to know that there was no way the kid would be able to balance himself on there.  
  
“Okay. Maybe we could try the back door,” Morgan said, flexing his fingers against Reid's back. The kid's frown lightened, beginning to look more and more like a pout.  
  
“It is locked from the inside,” he said. “Statistically, twenty-five percent of burglars get in through the back door,” he added, absently. He stared at the path, tapping his fingers on the cane's knob.

Morgan couldn't help but notice the way Reid leaned ever so slightly into him, as if seeking shelter from the crisp breeze.  
  
“I guess I could try walking on the grass. That should offer more purchase...” the kid said, hesitant. Morgan failed to repress a chuckle.  
  
“Reid, seriously. When was the last time you tidied that yard up?” He eyed Reid with a raised eyebrow – the garden was a miniature jungle, grass growing tall and wild, ice-frosted and crunchy. “Chances are you'll trip on some root, or on that squeaky plastic chicken Clooney lost last summer.”  
  
“Yeah,” Reid conceded, still quite reluctant. “I suppose that's true. Well – I guess we could...”  
  
Morgan shook his head, trying not to let his amusement show – and pretty much failing. “Kid, I'd say there's only one thing to do,” he said. He held out the bag, waiting for Reid to take it, resisting the urge to smile at his confused expression...  
  
“So, exactly what are you planning to – ”  
  
...and swept the kid up in a fluid motion, one arm strong around his back, the other lodged under his knees. He could no longer contain his grin when Reid let out a surprised yelp, one hand instinctively reaching to curl around Morgan's neck.  
  
“ _Morgan_!” he almost squeaked, flushed with embarrassment. He sputtered and stammered, as if unsure of what to say next.

For once, Morgan thought, feeling rather smug – the kid seemed to have been rendered speechless.  
  
“You are not doing this!” he finally sputtered. Morgan set his jaw.  
  
“Desperate times,” he announced, seriously.  
  
Reid attempted a glare, the effect ruined by the blush spreading on his cheekbones. “Morgan – I swear, if you don't put me down – ”  
  
“No can do, kid. Now hold tight!” Morgan replied, and took off along the path in careful, measured steps. Reid put on his kitten pout, but Morgan bravely held his ground.  
  
“Morgan – just put me _down_. Are you aware of the connotations that carrying another person to the doorstep involves?” Reid babbled. “It's a gesture traditionally associated with wedding ceremonies, antiquely intended to prevent the bride from bringing spirits in the house through her footsteps. Actually, I can't say I approve of the feminine attributes that my position implies, considering the...”  
  
“Hey,” Morgan interrupted, fondly exasperated. It was too early in the morning and he didn't have enough coffee in his system to sweet-talk Reid into silence – so he went for quick and practical. “Kid – shut up, or I'm dropping you.”  
  
Reid's pout intensified. “Fine,” he said, grumpy – and he heard Morgan's laughter, its deep rumble vibrating against his body. He remained quiet, clutching the bag of sweets which rested on his lap. It smelled like caramel and freshly baked cakes and warm hours spent cocooned in thick blankets, huddling on the sofa. He thought he could also detect a hint of chocolate – he repressed a secret smile, as something warm and pleasant stirred in his chest. He was sure he'd seen Morgan eyeing the brownies on display.  
  
He shifted in Morgan's arms, nestling closer to his body. Maybe he could pass it off as huddling for warmth. Maybe – he really wouldn't need to.  
  
Morgan's chest was warm, a pleasant contrast with the crisp breeze seeping through his clothes, fresh and biting on his face – he could hear the ice crackling under Morgan's soles, yet he realised he wasn't afraid of falling. Morgan's arms were warm, too, a solid weight against his skin, holding him up with no apparent effort – Morgan felt strong, and steady, and safe.

Reid clutched the paper bag a little tighter. Yes – Morgan felt – _safe_.  
  
Reid tilted his face up, meeting Morgan's eyes, and smiled. “You wouldn't drop me,” he said, trying not to sound too cocky. There was something warm in his voice, and he didn't try very hard to hide it. “I have deducted it with my staggering profiling abilities.”  
  
Morgan grinned back, pausing for a moment. “Oh, really?” he replied. “And what makes you so sure I wouldn't?”  
  
Reid's smile was tiny, and easily as bright as the sunlight captured by the ice. “I have the food,” he said.

Morgan couldn't help an affectionate chuckle, and just held him tighter.  
  
“Pretty boy – you really _are_ a genius, then.”  
  



End file.
